The
spotlight she sat in faded into darkness at the black curtains that
separated one realm of the theater from the next. The velvet red
seats stared back at her, empty, quiet, peaceful. Her dance shoes
clicked on the stage as she shifted positions, pulling her falling
curls up into a ponytail. An old tee shirt and the torn, ripped up
hems of her dance pants took the place of her costume. The warmth of
the audience, lights, and adrenaline were wearing down. It had been
awhile since she had finished helping the crew strike the stage and
clean the house, and now she was left almost to herself, only one or
two crew members drifting like ghosts across the catwalks above her.

Left
to her bittersweet thoughts, she barely heard the music from her
unfinished duet start to play faintly over the speakers. Curious, she
stood and went to retrieve the headset from backstage.

"What's
the music for, God?"

The
voice on the other end laughed. "Go ahead, dance. This is your last
song. Finish it now."

She
smiled and took the headset off, setting it down gently on the chair.

Walking
back out on stage, she noticed the lights had dimmed. A few moments
later, her stage manager was standing opposite her.

She
tapped out a couple rhythms and he imitated, moving closer to her.

They
danced closer and circled and she lost herself in the music and their
choreography.

He
pulled her closer into a dip and then into a lift and she began to
feel the same familiarity of the dance slowly come back to her. She
reveled in the feeling of being pulled up against his warm chest and
then thrown into the air and suddenly dueling against him with taps
again.

In
a fleeting moment she was blinded by the lights above her and was
caught in the sensation of performance—she was Jean, he was Colin
and they were floating...

And
then she stepped back towards him and they were back to being
amateurs in a tiny, empty theater, only dancing for each other. Both
performing their art for each other, unconditionally.

The
last thirty two measures started to play, the unchoreographed notes
hanging in the air, waiting for them to create something
instantaneously.

She
started with her favorite steps and intricate movements and he
mimicked her, a slight smirk crossing his face. She skipped up to him
and breathed, "Catch me" and jumped into their lift. She hung in
the air for a breathtaking moment and then fell into his arms and
slipped to the ground as the song faded out into white noise. She
pressed into him as they caught their breath, the loudest noise in
the theater.

The
contact turned uncomfortable as they started breathing evenly and he
gently stepped back and walked offstage. He returned moments later
holding the ghost light flipped it on.

"Stay
here while I turn the lights off."

She
stood motionless where she had landed minutes ago, bathed in the
harsh glow of the ghost light and felt a sudden wave of misery roll
over her. She bit her bottom lip to keep it from quivering, and just
as the tears were about to burst out, his voice came from the wings.
"Don't leave here crying. You've finished everything you set out to
do. It's time to move on. You have nothing to be upset about."

The
tears came anyway, followed by a runny nose and tired eyes. He made
no move to comfort her, but waited patiently for her to turn to face
him again.

"I
just never wanted it to end. I have nothing left to give, but I don't
want to leave," she said sadly.

This
time he walked across the stage and draped an arm around her
shoulders. They looked out into the darkened mass of empty rows. "You
were the first director here, and you will always be the favorite. No
one can take what you had. You're done here. Don't overstay your
welcome."

She
nodded silently and turned to face him, ready to say good night.

She
was met with a kiss and a warm body that lasted so briefly that she
wasn't shocked until after it was over.

He
stepped away from her, ready to disappear into the wings. "Good
night. Don't stay here too long, the house manager needs to lock up,"
he advised.

She
nodded slightly and waited until he disappeared to walk off the stage
herself. She gathered her belongings from the dressing room and
switched off the lights as she left.

When
she stepped out the stage door into the breezy, damp March night, he
stood waiting for her right outside.

She
looked at him questioningly.

"I know you have to leave. But I hope you know there's
no such thing as a last dance," he said. "Let me walk you home."

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